Bliss
by VervainAndRoses
Summary: "Everything we found there, alone, away from court…" A collection of moments set during Mary&Francis' honeymoon.
1. Chapter 1

A blur of trees pass by the carriage window, a mixture of bare trunks and stubborn greens covered in white. Mary and Francis have been traveling for some hours now, and after bobbing her knew up and down and talking about anything she could think of, kissing some and playing guessing games, Mary's now fast asleep on Francis' shoulder. He wonders, amused, how she even made the journey from the convent back to court months ago, or even more, from Scotland to France as a child; she is so terribly impatient.

It won't be long until they arrive to their first destination now, the scenery outside of the window changing as they get closer. The chateau they will be staying at in Paris overlooked a lake, and although it wasn't small by any means, it wasn't a grand castle. That wasn't what he wanted. He wished to use somewhere intimate, cozy; where they could enjoy themselves with the least possible amount of servants and guards and hosts, and the place he chose as their first stop was perfect. It's a surprise for Mary though, and they'll be arriving any minute now.

The carriage starts to turn on the road toward the gates, and Mary is still resting on his shoulder, her eyes closed and her breath puffing out warmly against him. She looks so peaceful, sleep washing away her worry lines and making her look like just a girl, not a queen with the weight of a country over her shoulders. She's looked this peaceful since their wedding ceremonies, both of them, and he hates to wake her from her slumber. But the carriage is coming to a stop in front of the chateau, and he can already see the servants through the window, carrying their things inside.

"Mary." He caresses her cheek softly, his fingers rubbing the smooth, rosy skin. "Wake up." She scrunches her nose in a way he finds absolutely adorable, but she doesn't open her eyes. And so he decides to take a different, more enjoyable approach.

"Mary." He whispers as his hand holds her head and he leans down to kiss her neck. Her eyes start to flutter open at this, and he continues. "I am pleased to inform you," he kisses her cheek, "that we have arrived." He sucks lightly on the spot behind her ear; the one he knows drives her crazy. She gasps, fully awake now, and he feels a ridiculous smugness at eliciting this reaction from her. Her hand sinks in his hair, and he can't help himself, his warm tongue touching her neck as he kisses her skin with an open mouth. Her eyes fall closed once again, but in a much different way that they were only minutes ago.

"You said we arrived." She gasps out, and he nods against her chest, his mouth traveling the length of her collarbone before she pulls him to her mouth and he complies, kissing her softly, unhurriedly. That they've arrived at their destination doesn't seem like that much of a concern to either of them at the current moment. She sighs against his lips, promptly forgetting the fact, and his thumb runs over her lower lip, coaxing her mouth open so his tongue can slip inside. His hand skims over her breast on its way to her waist and a gasp leaves her lips. The door of the carriage suddenly opens and they jump apart; her cheeks flaming.

The page pointedly looks at the floor as he announces everyone is ready to receive them, and Francis can't help but smile at Mary, despite the almost admonishing frown he receives from her afterwards. He comes out of the carriage, offering his hand to help her down himself. He grins widely at her blushed cheeks and she tries to give him a reproachful look and almost succeeds, but truth be told, he isn't the least embarrassed at being caught in a compromising position. They are husband and wife, just wed. No one can blame them for not being able to keep their hands to themselves. And they truly can't, even when the physical part of their relationship isn't that new in their case. He doesn't let go of her hand even after she comes down of the carriage. In fact, he doesn't plan on letting go of her anytime soon.


	2. Chapter 2

The castle is a wonderful place. After spending two weeks in Paris they traveled again, father into the countryside, and now she finds herself in front of a gorgeous stone fort that almost reminds her of her home in Scotland. The grounds are lovely even in winter, seeming out of a fairy tale. They have only just arrived, and the servants unloading their things give them a little time to explore. She holds Francis' hand the entire time they walk around the gardens, and there's an almost permanent smile on his face. It's a look she rather loves on him.

"So what do you think, wife?" He asks her with a grin. "Do you like it?"

"Yes. It's gorgeous here." But not as amazing as it is to hear him calling her wife, she thinks. He's used the title as much as possible since it became official, and she finds the word husband to be new and sweet in her tongue as well. They might just forget their given names for a few more days yet. "I love it." She tells him, a smile playing at her lips as she reaches up to run her hand through his curls, not able to keep herself apart from him for more than a second.

He kisses her fast then, whispering, "Let's go inside." Against her lips, and she nods, the snow covered garden no longer holding her attention at all. He pulls her into his side, his embrace warming her from the chill as they rush back to the castle, walking inside through a side door they find open.

They minute they step inside the door he pulls her into his embrace, his lips seeking hers almost like second nature. They do not even realize that they have stepped into the kitchens, or have any care for the servants that observe them with smiles, noting that they have been there for barely an hour. They are far too drunk on their happiness to notice a world exists outside the circle of each other's arms.

Her hands travel down his shoulders, and then wrap around his body. She grabs his backside to pull him even closer, and the sound of a giggle makes her step away. She realizes where they have wandered into when they suddenly pull apart, and Mary is so embarrassed at getting lost in the moment and not noticing their audience, she swears her face will never be a color other than red.

"Umm, excuse us." She says quickly, to the amused faces of half a dozen servants, and then walks back out as fast as her legs will carry her and her long skirts will allow. Francis follows her suit and it's clear he's not nearly as ashamed as she is, since there's a smile on his face. The flames blazing in her cheeks don't abate at the thought of what everyone inside witnessed. They walk out into the gardens once again, just in time for Francis' smile to break out into a full on laugh, and she turns around, frowning at him.

"Francis! Stop it," she tells him "it's not funny." She reprimands him, having to cover her mouth to hide her smile, though, the hilarity of the situation catching up to her, even if she will never admit that, embarrassment still at the forefront of her mind. Besides she won't give him the pleasure this time. He finds it an infinite source of amusement how she often forgets there are other people in the same castle as them. Or in the same country.

"I'm not laughing." He says, but that is a huge lie, for a goofy grin lights up his face. She knows it has everything to do with the way she can't seem to keep herself together when he touches her. She tries to resist the smile fighting its way onto her face, and says as seriously as she can manage. "I'm going to go have a bath now, wash off the journey here."

"All right." He says, leaning down to brush his lips with hers just faintly, and she can't even think about refusing on account of his laughing, her mouth responding of it's own accord. "You seem awfully distracted though; try not to drown in the bathtub."

"Francis!" She calls him out on his teasing, for what a husband she's been gifted with. But at the lovely glint of happiness in his eyes she is thankful for it all, even him making fun of her.

"I'm joking!" He tells her, his hands going to cup her cheeks. "Go enjoy your bath, I'll make sure our things are settled and that dinner it's on its way. And you won't have to face the servants for tonight at least." He tries to control the amused smile pulling at the sides of his mouth, and she can't help but giggle.

"That was mortifying and you make fun of me." She says, her hands holding on to the lapels of his coat. "You're terrible."

"You love me." He tells her, his hands settling on her waist.

"I do." She nods and doesn't try to hide the smile that takes over right then, as he pulls her in for a lingering kiss. His lips are warm despite the cold, and so sweet against hers. She pulls away after just a moment though, not planning to give the servants another spectacle any time soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Her hand is testing the water's warmth when Francis comes in. Even after a couple weeks of marriage she is still almost surprised to see him walk into her rooms, unannounced; his demeanor completely carefree as he walks toward her.

"You may leave now." He says in the direction of the chamber maid, and the girl nods and curtsies before retiring, but Mary's eyes are stuck to Francis, the way he spoke making her senses awaken. He comes to her, pulling her close by her waist. She's wearing only a thin robe and he is still in his traveling attire, and something in that makes her feel almost vulnerable. It makes her blood churn. He mutters a suggestion against her ear that makes her eyes pop open a second before she nods, excitement making her breath race.

"Can I join you?" He'd asked.

She watches him take of his clothes slowly, methodically and when he is finally completely bare before her, he pulls her in, kissing her passionately, his mouth dominating hers. She barely feels him untying her robe and pushing it off her body. The silk grazes her shoulders as it goes down and this feels different somehow, than any of the countless times he's seen her. The room is completely alight with the late afternoon sun and his eyes travel her body like a gentle caress; he admires her like she's a work of art.

"You're so beautiful." He tells her, and something in the way he says it makes her chest feel as if it is going to burst open. He leads her to the bathtub, stepping inside the warm water. He holds his hand out to her and she steps inside, not quite sure on how to arrange herself.

"Turn around…come here." She follows his lead, sitting in front of him, and his arms come around her waist, pulling her close. She relaxes against his chest, the warm water and his hands doing wonders for her tired, travel-weary body. His fingers start to run over her arms, and the lull of the movement and the water make her go slack, pliant … her eyes fall close of their own accord as she leans her head back to rest it on his shoulder.

"I was here once before, some years ago. I'll show you the chateau before dinner, what do you say?"

He asks her, his fingers tracing up and down her shoulder.

"All right." She says softly, sighing with the feeling the movement evokes in her.

"And after dinner, we could finish our walk through the garden. I think it might not be that cold yet. We could watch the sun set…what do you think?" His hand is tracing patterns in her stomach now, each time lower than the last and her heartbeat speeds sup.

"Huh?" She asks him.

"I said, what do you think about watching the sun set tonight?"

"Umm…" She struggles to find words to answer him, when his hands seem to be wondering aimlessly over her body.

"What has you so distracted?" He teasingly asks, as his hand runs over her smooth thigh, up her side and brushes his fingers over her breast.

"Francis." She gasps softly, her eyes opening and her head rising up from his shoulder. He kisses her neck.

"Relax. It was a long journey." He coaxes her to lie against him once more, and his lips return to her neck, biting and sucking at the tender flesh. She can't help the small moan that escapes her lips. He quiets her, his hand running lower and lower.

"Relax." He reiterates softly, his hand dipping between her legs that fall open of their own accord. A moan escapes her lips the fist time he touches her, the water around her creating a completely new feeling.

"What if…ah…someone comes in?" She breathily asks him, her breath speeding up. She remembers their earlier mistake despite herself.

"They won't." He says and she wants to ask him how he's so sure but then his mouth nips at her shoulder and his fingers do wonders to her underneath the water. Relaxing is absolutely ludicrous, as even keeping herself quiet proves to be a struggle, but she manages, although her question is well forgotten by the time they get out.


	4. Chapter 4

Francis and Mary lay on their sides, a tray of fruits and pastries forgotten on the table near the bed, a cup full of cherries between then on the bed. They've been attempting to have breakfast for nearly half an hour now, but the task is easier said than done, as they constantly get distracted by each other's lips and body. The silk sheet rest on their waist, and Mary doesn't even attempt to cover herself anymore, any reservations she might have had about being naked long since forgotten. He takes a cherry, running it over her breast and down her arm, his mouth following suit to lick the sweetness of her skin.

"Francis!" She giggles, his beard tickling her, his lips making her stomach flutter in a completely different way. "What are you doing?"

"Enjoying my breakfast." He answers her, his lips pressing a quick kiss that tastes of cherries upon her mouth. He lays back down on his side, popping the fruit in his mouth, his eyes gazing adoringly at her. He smiles at her and her lips return the gesture almost on their own. She's been smiling so much lately her cheeks almost begin to hurt.

"Here, try one." He grabs a ripe one and feeds it to her, and she bites down on the red fruit, a bit of juice running down her lower lip. He wipes it off, sucking his thumb afterwards. "They're good, aren't they? And at this time of year."

She nods, the sweet flavor in her mouth almost as good as seeing him so relaxed and at ease. They're so thoroughly comfortable with one another. It's one of the best things this time alone has offered them, their responsibilities put on hold for a few months, their time to use as they please. It's pure bliss to wake up next to him every morning, and for him to be the last person she speaks with before she falls asleep, always in his arms. She could truly live in this bubble for the rest of her life.

"I don't want to leave here." She tells him, and his brow furrows slightly.

"Here? I thought we were leaving for Anet tomorrow morning. But if you want to stay a while longer, I believe we could manage that..." He explains, and she smiles at his trying to change their plans to please her, but that is not what she meant.

"I mean here in this moment." She tells him, extending her arm across the bed to entwine her fingers with his. "I don't ever want to go back."

He pulls her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, and then to her wrist. Her fingernails scratch his beard softly when he lets go of her, smiling. She's almost mesmerized by the way he looks so early in the morning; his blue eyes clear like the sky outside.

"Shall I tell you a secret?" He asks, his mouth pulls up in that teasing smile she so loves to see on him. He grabs the cup of berries between them and reaches over her to drop it on the bedside table.

"I don't want to go back either," he confesses, whispering in her ear and then climbs on top of her, adjusting the sheet so it still covers them at least a little. The season is winter even if they tend to forget, their bed is always so warm. "and we don't have to," he leans down to press a kiss on her neck, her pulse speeding up underneath his tongue. "just yet." A wide smile is the answer to his words, and she pulls his mouth down to hers then, pure happiness singing in her chest.


	5. Chapter 5

Francis sets down the last tray of food on the low table by the fire, hoping it'll keep warm. He asked the servants to bring their dinner to their chambers tonight, and now he stands up to asses his handiwork. He moved a low table in front of the fireplace, some cushions scattered around it, and now the mouth-watering smell of the food fills the air. It's not much, but he wanted to do something special for Mary, something different, and with her going to shop for the day it was the perfect occasion to do so. She was supposed to be back earlier, but with the weather he advised the carriage driver to take the journey back as slow as he needed to make it safe; besides, it was the first time she could truly buy things to her content. And with the help of the duchess, the wife of their host, who according to her husband loves using his money more than she ever loved him, he isn't worried about the slight delay.

Mary and him had both agreed to spend the day apart the night before; he, gambling with the duke and his friends, and she shopping (he'd told her in jest that he didn't quite care for her trying on dresses, he'd much rather take them off, which earned him a slap on the chest.) But even so it was almost laughable how much they delayed getting out of bed that morning. In fact, a servant came to inform them that the carriage was waiting for Mary and she hadn't even called for a maid to help her get dressed. At the end, he did it himself, tying up her corset strings and her skirt, clasping her necklace for her, and the intimacy they shared in something as simple as getting ready was something he loved. Finally, he let her go, her excitement almost palpable, and told her to try not to miss him too much.

He's a bit hungry now, but he decided he'd much rather eat with his wife, as simple as that was, and so with the food ready and the room set up, he has nothing to do but wait for her. He sits down on an arm chair to do just that.

.:.

"Francis?" She calls out, untying her cape. "You should see how many people there were! I found gifts for Greer, Kenna and Lola, and some wonderful marzipan from this bakery. Oh, and I bought a box of sweets I think your brothers will appreciate …Francis?"

She finds him asleep on a chair, the fire dying out next to him. And several covered trays of what she can assume its dinner set on a table in front of the dim flames. The sight warms her heart, and she walks closer, taking her cloak of her shoulders along the way. She sits down on his lap gently, and he starts to wake.

"Hey." She scratches his beard softly, like he's a cat rousing from sleep.

"Hello." He tells her, his voice sleepy. "How was your day?"

"Wonderful." She beams at him, wanting to tell him already about all the things she bought and saw, but her eyes drift to the untouched trays near the fireplace. "I told you not to wait for me to have your dinner. It's quite late."

"I don't mind." He shakes his head. "I'll rekindle the fire and ask for some wine while you get changed."

She nods, pretty famished from the day, and attempts to stand up from his lap but he pulls her back down before she can manage to move away.

"First things first though." He says, before leaning forwards and capturing her lips with his own. It's a tender kiss, his lips pulling at hers until she leans over him, pushing him back into the chair, no hurry at all. It says I missed you, no matter how minuscule the separation was. His tongue traces her lower lip softly, and she almost wines as he pulls away from her before it can become more, an almost drunk smile on his face. "_Now_, how about dinner?"


	6. Chapter 6

"I'll be just a moment longer." She tells him as he walks in, ready for bed. She's still sitting in front of the mirror, the maid behind her undoing the intricate braid her hair was tied into for today's dinner with their hosts. She can see Francis look at her through the glass, his attitude telling her that she's not the only impatient one.

"You may leave us." Francis tells the maid suddenly, and the girl steps back and curtsies, then leaves right away. Mary is left with her mouth almost hanging open.

"Francis! She has yet to undo my hair." She complains right away, but he just shakes his head. "I'd do it myself but I can't even see it, I'll tangle it all. What did you do that for?"

"I guess I just could not wait a minute longer to be alone with my wife." He tells her, coming behind her, his fingers dancing on her shoulders and his eyes dancing with mischief. It would be a lot easier to be cross with him if she didn't love him that much, or if he wasn't such a charmer and a sweet talker when he meant to.

"Well, now you'll have to wait until I figure out what to do with my hair." She tells him, not wanting to let him get away with it. She knows she's punishing them both but so be it. She likes a bit of playful pettiness every once in a while, he had it coming.

"I believe _I'm_ capable of helping with something as simple as a braid, my love." He tells her, and she finds his idea is much better than hers.

"Very well then." She tries to hide her smile, taking a brush and pressing it to his hand before climbing on the bed. He follows suit, confident in his abilities. Yet when he sits behind her, the man finds himself in front of a truly puzzling picture. Mary's long black hair is rather complicatedly braided into a heart, and he's not quite sure where it all begins or ends.

"Shall I call for the maid to come back?" She asks him, smug, once he says nothing and makes no move to begin. Although he sits there with the brush held loosely in his hand and a very confused expression on his face, he shakes his head before realizing she can't see him.

"No, it's quite all right." It is not. He's a man truly lost, but although he's quite happy to pleasure her at all times, he doesn't want to give her _this_ particular satisfaction. Carefully he begins to undo the braids that are loose among her hair, for something to do before facing her hairstyle. He will not be defeated.

Once he's done with the less threatening part he softly begins to search for ways to unwind her hair, almost too careful as he doesn't want to pull on it and hurt her. Slowly, he finds where the ends have been hidden and after a few minutes her hair is back into its usual curls and smaller loose braid he can deal with quite easily. He smiles, satisfied with himself. He undoes all of the smallest braids, except one close to the front that he knows she always likes to wear because it reminds her of Scotland and Aylee.

He then takes the brush and runs its bristles through her long hair, and he finds that its no longer the playful desire to prove her wrong that drives him, but that he likes it as well, as he knows she certainly does if her quiet sighs are anything to go by.

There's a certain peace to this, a certain intimacy as he does something so small and perhaps insignificant for his wife as brushing her hair. He loves the feel of it, as he can never tire of running his fingers through her hair as she lies on his chest. And although this is different it feels good all the same. The scent of lavender that floats from her curls fills the air, tickling his nose with the sweet scent. He thinks he might just do this for her every night, rather than wait for her to finish. After a lot longer than what was needed, her hair almost straight, he lays the brush down.

"I believe I'm done." He whispers in her ear, then kisses her cheek sweetly, and she's waken from a little stupor.

"Uh?" She sounds a bit confused, and he smiles with the knowledge he almost lulled her right into sleep.

"I hope your hair is to your liking, your majesty." He says, as dutiful as a maid.

She runs her fingers through her hair as if assessing his work, not finding one tangle. She's pleased but not surprised; she knew he'd do a good work of it with his deft fingers. Not that she'd ever tell him that.

"It's…not too bad, I suppose." She says, holding her chin a little higher in jest.

"You suppose?!" He exclaims, laughing, his arms going around her waist and holding her to him tight. "I think... you undermine my handiwork." He tells her slowly, then leans back and takes all of her hair over one shoulder pressing a kiss to the tender skin at the nape of her neck.

"I guess it's all right." She concedes, sighing.

"_Just_ all right?" He asks her, his finger deftly unbuttoning the top part of her nightgown and his lips dropping kisses on her increasingly bare shoulders. She chuckles.

"Keep that up and I'll never use a maid again!"


	7. Chapter 7

She plays with his hand as the sweat cools off both of their bodies, running her fingertips over the lines of his palm, circling his signet ring, touching the slightly calloused skin beneath his fingers.

"I remember Kenna saying once that all royals had girl's hands, you know? But you don't." She says without thinking, her mind still too much of a jumble to filter what words leave her mouth.

"Excuse me?" He asks her laughing loudly, his stomach rumbling beneath her fingertips.

She closes her eyes quickly in embarrassment. Francis has this effect on her, this way of completely undoing her; that her thoughts tend to be nothing but a discombobulated mess afterwards, in absolute disarray during those moments while they come down of their pleasure. Much to her chagrin, it's not the first time she's blurted out something odd.

"So my hands are… what? More manly than the common royal?" He asks, smiling amusedly, once his laughter has died down.

"Yes, I mean, they're calloused; not, not that it's bad. I actually like it, the way it feels when you touch…" Her cheeks flame up. "I meant, what Kenna said, it's from never having to do any work. All royals, all titled people, really, they have servants. They never have to do anything by themselves so their hands aren't thoughened by work. That's what I meant. And yours, aren't…like that." She stops her ramble kissing his palm softly, and he smiles to himself, running the tip of his finger over the pretty blush on her cheek. He finds her too endearing for words.

"That's from making swords. I've had a couple of years of trying to master the skill, you know? I was about…12, when I started. I set everything up with Bash's help. I'm not even sure if my father knew that all those materials were for me. He probably would have chastised me for it. Perhaps I could've been stupid enough to cut my fingers off." He says flippantly, but she runs a comforting hand down his chest.

"I didn't care." He continues, pushing a few curls behind her ear. "I just needed something to do, other than listening to meetings for hours on end and my governess' lectures on everything under the sun. I was wound up.

I don't know why I chose making knives as a way to fix that, but it helped. Whenever I was frustrated, angry…I went up there and took it out on the metal I suppose." He shrugs his shoulders as much as he can with her weight on one of them, listening intently to him. "It was good knowing that no one would come to bother me there, that I had that place to myself."

_"__My_ old rooms, you mean." She tells him coyly, having taken a breath and recuperated from her slight, rambling, lapse in judgment. Not that she really has any shame in front of her husband.

"I did take over them, didn't I?" He asks her, looking down at her. "Your toys were still strewn around, so many memories…I guess I always missed you, even if I didn't want to admit it to myself."

He brushes his lips across her forehead, and a comfortable silence falls between them before she speaks up again.

"You would have made a fine bladesmith." She tells him out of nowhere, her voice laden with a certain remoteness.

"Is that so?"

"Uhmn" She nods.

He gives it some thought before he asks her, wondering. "Is that what our life could have been? If we were just a man and a woman, not royals? I would have been a bladesmith, and you would have… milked goats?" The mental image makes him laugh as much as settles a strange feeling on his chest.

"_And_ made cheese," Mary added, matter-of-fact, "and perhaps gathered colored stones to help you decorate the hilts of your knives."

"You did try to do that the day you came back and I was an arse to you." He tells her, playing with her earlobe, not able to stop touching her. "I'm sorry." She doesn't say anything, just presses a kiss that tastes of salt to his bare chest, a smile on her lips.

"And what would I do with those decorated knives?" He asks her to spur her on.

"Sold them at the village market of course." She sits up then, her eyes lighting up. "And we'd have a small house near the river-"

"I would have built it for you myself, however you'd imagined it." He tells her, caressing his finger up and down her thigh. Playing along to her fantasy because he so loves the excitement that floods her countenance.

"And we'd raise our babies there, and let them walk barefoot on the grass."

"Like _you_ did when we were younger?" He asks teasingly, a clear image of a 7-year-old Mary taking off her shoes much to their governess astonishment and running down the grassy hills near the castle, picking flowers and kicking up dirt in the first weeks of spring.

"Yes, exactly like that." She says, grinning at his teasing, but after a moment her smile slowly fades away. "And we'd get by with what we could, and we'd be happy. Sometimes, I almost wish that could be our life." With the constant pressures and fears of court, the attempts on her life and threats to her country, the immensity of the weight that rests on her young shoulders… sometimes, in her weakest moments, she could have wished it fell on someone else.

He's not lying at all when he says, "sometimes I do too."

He'd always been groomed to be a King, until not so long ago he'd thought it was the only thing that mattered. But now, he knew that he could've had a happy life if he was no one as well, as long as he had her by his side. That he felt adrift once he lost it all mostly because he lost _her. _If he had her, it mattered little what he was or what he had or where he lived. She was the only constant he needed. He'd be lying if he said he didn't wish for a world in which he could love her freely, from the start, without the reservations of what was best for his country. A live in which he could always put her first.

"But I don't want it." She shrugs it off, laying back down to rest her arms on his chest, and her chin on her hands. "I have you. By luck, or fate… we have one another, in _this_ life, _now_. And that's what matters to me the most. Although I'm sure we'd find each other in any life."

"So you'd love me even if I was nothing?" He asks, knowing in his heart the answer, but nonetheless wanting to hear her say it. All his life he'd been treated a certain way for his title, wanted or liked or even hated for being the dauphin of France. No one paid much attention to the man underneath.

"I'd love you the same, if you were a King or a beggar. Or the village's bladesmith." She adds with a wink; and then says, lower, "My heart would be yours, just as it is now."

"And mine yours." He tells her, leaning forward just slightly to kiss her lips, "my beautiful milkmaid." He adds in jest, and her eyes widen as she slaps his chest softly.

He takes her and flips her over, her laugh ringing through the room as her back bounces of the mattress. And then he is on top her, his mouth on her neck turning her giggles into moans, his lips whispering against her skin as he goes lower and lower. "My Queen…my love…my wife…"


	8. Chapter 8

Rousing from sleep is particularly bothersome that morning. Mary lazily stretches her bare legs under the covers, arches her back like a cat. She hasn't slept this deeply in a while, and it takes a few moments to shake the drowsiness off, rub the sleep out of her eyes.

"Francis?" She calls out softly, once in all her stretching she doesn't hit a warm body next to hers. She peeks out of the mess of warm sheets and finds herself alone in the room. Finally accepting the bright light coming through the window as the beginning of a new day, she sits up in bed, clutching the covers to her naked chest.

A noise comes from the fireplace that's out of her view, and curiosity creases her brow before a servant girl stands up, wiping her hands on her skirts after adding more peat to the fire, apparently.

"The dauphin is in the gardens, your Grace." The girl says with a smile before Mary can even ask the question. "He gave orders not to wake you."

She nods, biting back a smile. Last night was particularly…exhausting, she thinks, a blush creeping on her cheeks. She faintly remembers Francis pulling the sheets over them both before she gave into fatigue and slipped into a deep slumber. It's just like him to make sure she wasn't bothered even though it seems to be nearly midday.

"Yes, thank you. I'd like to get dressed now." She tells the servant, wondering what her husband could be up to in the gardens by himself, and not wishing to waste one more minute until she can find out.

"Of course, your Grace. I'll call the maids right away." The girl curtsies and walks out, leaving the Queen of Scots to start her day –albeit much later than usual.

.

Mary walks quietly through the corridors, running her fingertips over the walls as she heads in the direction of the south gardens. She's fallen in love with this place. Everywhere they've visited has been lovely but here seems particularly beautiful. The château is built all of brick and stone, and through the arches of glass that are the windows she can glance at the unique beauty of Anet, even covered in snow.

Her footsteps are light as she walks out, the cold winter air invigorating instead of irksome. Truthfully, everything comes easier these days. Around a corner, she finally catches sight of the reason why.

Francis has a bow in his hands, his eyes determined on a mark farther down, he barely blinks as he lets the arrow fly. He seems so at ease out here, so relaxed, that she can't help but stop and stare at him. It is quite the rare sight, outside of their bedroom walls, at least.

He takes another arrow and nocks it into place. He is so completely focused on the task at hand that he doesn't hear her step behind him.

"Good morning." She whispers on his ear, laughing as her voice startles him and the arrow goes flying on a different path. He turns around, surprised. Before he can speak a word though, she's pulling him down for a kiss. His lips are warm against hers, insistent then when she opens her mouth and he pulls her closer. She can feel the shape of the bow pressing against her back. He pulls back softly, her mouth following his afterwards, which puts a smile on his face.

"Sneaking on your husband, I see." He doesn't give her time to answer before he's pulling her back for another long, lingering kiss.

"I woke up and you weren't there." She tells him once she steps away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you. You were sleeping so deeply."

"It's all right, but I missed you." She gifts him with a shy smile. "What are you doing?"

"_Trying_to shoot straight, I suppose." He answers her, mock affronted, as his eyes find the stray arrow, embedded on a tree.

"Where did you find that?" She asks, curious, signaling toward the longbow held in his hand. "Or did you hide it with our baggage when we left court in case you got bored of your wife?"

"Very funny." He rolls his eyes at her. "In that case, I'd have brought it in case I made my wife so exhausted she slept like the dead the following day."

"Fair enough." She huffs with a roll of her eyes, smiling even as a blush tints her cheeks at his words.

"It was kept inside, I merely borrowed it." He shrugs, taking another arrow and pulling it back. Her eyes follow his every move, from the resolute line of his brow, to the angle of his arms; the ease with which he lets the arrow go, hitting the mark straight in the center. At the sight, the already familiar signs of arousal start making themselves known on her body, and Mary fleetingly thinks that this wedding trip has turned her improperly wanton –not that Francis would care.

"I always wanted to learn, you know?" She mentions, trying to distract herself. "I remember when they started teaching you, a few months before I left. I was ever so displeased when I was told it was improper. They found me a sewing teacher instead."

He turns to look at her, fighting the smile off his lips at the faint way she's pouting without even realizing it. She's always been so headstrong. When they were children she was always the one coming up with new games, making him run after her and getting them both into trouble. Even know, if he tries, he can recall the way she always fought so stubornly to get what she wanted. She almost always did, except for archery it seems, and he has a soft spot for giving her anything and everything he's able.

"Come here." He beckons, smiling. She takes his hand as he pulls her closer, her face a show of confusion as he doesn't pull her to him but rather turns her around. "I'll teach you."

"Francis," she turns her head back to him, a smile taking over. "I was a child."

"And I don't see why you can't learn now." He tells her, handing her the longbow which is almost as tall as she is. "Here, hold it in this manner." He says, immediately slipping into the role of teacher, and she obeys him, rolling her eyes. His voice is as serious as if he was planning a war, his eyes focused on her hands and positioning them correctly.

"It's hopeless, darling." She tells him, getting used to the weight of the instrument in her hands, and the way the term of endearment slips off her tongue more easily than she ever thought possible.

"I'm confident in my skills as a tutor." He says, kissing her neck and making warmth run through her; and it serves to remind her in just what other activities he's being a wonderful guide to her inexperience. "Here, nock the arrow into position like this." His hands work over hers, and she does make an effort to listen to him and actually learn something even if his breath is warm on her neck in the chilly winter, and the sound of his voice manages to distract her.

"All right? The arrow goes below…just three fingers…" he patiently explains how to properly place it, and she thinks they should have shared all tutors as children, because she has never learned something so fast. "Now try it yourself."

She nocks the arrow into place and pulls back the string, her arm shaking but little.

"Good." He says, cheerfully, and she feels senselessly happy with herself for making him proud. "Now what you need is somewhere to draw the string to. I use my cheek for example, but you can choose anything. Just do what feels best."

"Are you still teaching me how to shoot and arrow?" She asks him coyly, drawing the string back and struggling to keep control of the bow. He helps her, chuckling under his breath. He said words very much alike the night before.

"Yes. This is strictly an academic lesson, your Grace." He tells her, and she can't do anything but smile at his words and the feeling in her chest, because he so seldom lets himself go like today, and they never had the chance to just joke with each other, and if she could live here for the rest of her days she would.

"Here," he continues, "you could use your mouth." His thumb brushes her bottom lip slowly, tracing over her pout, and her eyes turn to meet his. It's almost imperceptible how the space between them changes, their bodies seeming to remember the spaces where the other's warmth belongs, but she takes her gaze away in a show of self-control because they are in the middle of the day, in the middle of a garden, and in the middle of a strict academic lesson.

"And then?" She asks him, feeling his chest against her back shake with his chuckle, because damn him; her husband knows what he does to her.

"Just pull the arrow back and touch your mouth. Good." His hands on her shoulders try to massage away the tension. "Don't strain yourself. Now aim."

She concentrates on the mark, trying to follow his directions.

"And shoot." She releases the arrow, and it surprises her, goes faster than she can see. She's happy for a second until she realizes she can't see it anywhere near the mark.

"Where did it go?" She asks him, "I did what you told me to!"

"No one gets it right the first time, it's a matter of practice." He answers her, ever so amused. "_Patience."_ He remarks.

"I thought you knew I wasn't patient." She turns to say to him, raising an eyebrow. They're flirting, she realizes, and the fact that they're already married and know each other as best as anyone can, does nothing to deter the nervous fluttering in her stomach his sparkling blue eyes cause.

"Oh, I'm well aware, believe me." He tells her. "Do you want to try again?"

She eagerly nods, which causes him to laugh and they go over the same routine again, and again, his hands resting on her waist when they're not helping her.

"I think I'd focus better if your hands were not on my body." She tells him truthfully, her concentration split in two, not that she actually minds.

"Oh, it's my fault?" He asks, "am I distracting you?" His hand leaves her waist and slowly creeps up her body, touching places and doing things that are certainly not appropriate for a public space. Just when she's about to absolutely give up and turn around, he steps backs with a respectful little bow that makes her want to hit him with the bow. "Pardon me, my lady. Won't happen again." He tells her, clasping his hands behind his back, his eyes twinkling with mischievousness.

"Huh." She huffs, disbelieving that she has so much self-control, because she can already feel hers burning out. He laughs, a deep, melodious laugh straight from his belly before moving up to her again.

"Come on." He encourages her, a kind smile still on his lips. He stands right behind her, his hand on her arm, guiding her movements.

"Trust me, all right? Focus on the mark….breathe…." She does as he says, inhaling the crisp cold air along with him. "Now shoot." This time the arrow flies straight to the mark, landing near the left side.

She turns around, a big smile on her face at the achievement.

"See?" He asks, with a mirroring smile at her reaction.

She's about to nod and ask him to try with her again before she remembers his sneaky little game. She struggles to reign back her beam.

"I suppose you're not such a bad teacher after all." She jokes, a grin taking over as he takes the bow from her hand. He kisses her gently at first, but then passion overtakes them as he bites her lip. She starts wondering just how cold the snow would be when there's a giggle followed by a clearing of throat close by. They turn to the side at the same time, to face a red-faced servant girl trying to hold back her laugh.

"Food is about to be served, your majesties." She says, before curtsying and hurrying back to the chateau, leaving the young royals to consider their options.

Mary doesn't even turn to look him as she asks, "We are going to be late for lunch, aren't we?"

His hand is warm on her waist, and she swears she can feel his smile against her hair as he answers her.

"I believe so, my little archer."

They laugh as he pushes her in the direction of the chateau. Both of them hurry along between cheeky retorts and quick kisses, but certainly not towards the main hall.

* * *

**a/n: For Heather, I hope you feel better! **

**Thanks for reading and let me know what you think, and if you have any suggestions for this fic send them my way, anon or not. :D**


	9. Chapter 9

The chill wakes her up.

Francis' arm is loosely draped over her waist, his breath just a whisper on her neck, the warmth of it contrasting sharply with the cold of the room. The duvet is down to her waist, she must have pushed it off in her sleep, and through her thin nightgown the faint cold of the room bothers her. The fire must have died in the middle of the night, she reasons, still half asleep. She's far too comfortable in the silky sheets and between Francis' arms to want to get up, but she doesn't want either of them to catch a cold that would spoil their honeymoon. And so with a groan she raises her head and looks around for her robe, and when she locates it she tries to slip out of bed. Tries.

"Where are you going?" Francis mumbles, his voice laced with sleep.

"I'm going to call for a servant to stock the fire." She whispers to him. "It's dying."

"I can keep you warm." It's his answer, as he drops a kiss on her naked shoulder.

"You know I'm coming back, right?" She reminds him, laugther forming in her throat at his adorable tone of voice. She can nearly _hear_ the pout.

"Don't leave in the first place." He tells her. His leg comes between her own then, effectively locking her inside the bed.

"Francis!" She complains half-heartedly, becoming convinced that she doesn't really need to get up before she remembers that it's not as if she would take more than two minutes, or was asking him to give up his firstborn.

"Far too early for my wife to leave our bed." He complains, leaving a sloppy kiss on her neck, his beard scratching the sensitive skin, making desire begin to stir low on her belly as sleep leaves her.

" It'll just take me a second." She tells him then, low, teasing him. She moves back to grind against him before trying to get up again, and he groans at her antics, tightening his arms around her.

"No." He insists, kissing her cheek over and over again. "You're staying," kiss, "right," kiss, "here." His mouth finds her lips then, and as his tongue traces her lips he makes a good case of why not getting up-ever- is a fantastic idea.

"I suppose you'll really have to keep me warm then." She tells him boldly, seeing as they're both very awake now; and he growls against her shoulder which elicits a laugh from her lips.

"I think I can manage that." He says pulling the duvet to cover her, and before she turns around to tell him she wasn't really speaking about the cold she feels his hand roughly pulling up her nightgown beneath the sheets. She gasps, and tries to roll over to look at him but he keeps her facing away from him and it's different than anything they've done so far. His mouth isn't there to swallow her moan when his hand slides between her legs so she bites her lip to keep the sound inside. He's not restrained now, not as he knows exactly how to touch her to make her come apart.

"Don't hold back," he whispers huskily against her neck and she's not quite sure when her eyes slipped closed. "I want to hear you." His mouth is hot against her neck ad his fingers are insistent at her core, caressing her so expertly she can't help but comply and let her mouth fall open in a silent o. She starts to move against his hand so wantonly she'd be ashamed but she can't because this is Francis, her husband, who knows her and her body inside and out. A long, low moan leaves her throat as her whole body tightens when she reaches her climax; hot, wanting, pulsating.

They're so close she can feel him push his breeches down and it only makes her more impatient, but he doesn't let her turn on her back; instead he pulls her leg open so she can feel his hardness nestled against her heat. Her hands grasps the sheets before he enters her with a quick thrust of his hips. Her faint gasps as he pushes into her again and again fill the room. They move slowly; gentle and lucid and still a little groggy with the fading cover of sleep.

She loves this, oh how she does. It's only their sound that she can hear, their combined moans and the movement of their bodies; caught in that peaceful moment before the sun rises. He moves faster against her, his hand on her hip guiding her in this new position; and soon enough she's pushing back agaisnt him, lost in this, in him. His hand sneaks down her body once more right above where they're joined, and his fingers caress her in tandem with his thrusts.

"Oh God," She moans, her head thrown back to rest against his shoulder as they chase their climax together. Her whole body trembles, and moments later he hears his grunt as he spills inside of her, deep and hot. They slow down, exhausted, yet more awake than ever. He slips out of her gently, and she finally turns around to face him.

She brings his head down to hers for a long kiss, a smile on her lips.

"I _should_ call a servant about the fire." He says pulling back suddenly, but her arm firmly wraps around him and keeps him in place.

"Don't you _dare_ leave this bed."


	10. Chapter 10

He gallops faster, her figure getting farther away by the second. They'd taken horses and gone for a ride somewhere north of the Chateau, the trees still green despite the winter. She's a good rider, he'll give her that; perhaps even better than himself -and with nothing next to his training that is- which he wouldn't take as kindly if he didn't love her so much.

Her face glowed, her cheeks rosy and alive as she climbed on her horse, her skirts riding up to show her knees in a way not at all appropriate for a Queen but that she couldn't have been bothered by.

There was a wildness about her as she galloped away from him with a "_Catch up!" _A freedom that he hadn't been witness too since they were children and escaped their governess to play on the edge of the woods.

She looks back at him, laughing, the sound reaching his ears like the sweetest of melodies. She is so beautiful, and he is so damn lucky to be married to this woman, this Queen.

He whips the reins of his horse, urging the animal to go faster, until her is nearly at her heels.

"I thought I'd left you behind!" She tells him breathlessly, flushed from the cold air, the tips of her ears a bright red that he finds himself crazily wanting to kiss.

"Almost. Looks like _I'm_ the one always running after you now." He tells her, reminded of her words the day she came back. They both slow down the animals to an easy trot.

"Seems only fair." She says, cheekily.

"Does it now? Little spitfire." He says, the name slipping off his tongue and her eyes light up with something like recognition.

"Do you remember that day?" She asks him, as they both come to a stop on the edge of a hill overlooking frozen lakes.

.

_"__You're an… Scottish…mad girl!...a…a spitfire!" Francis screamed, his little ears red with anger, his face flushed. At his age he did not know enough words to insult a lady, not that this girl was a lady at all, if her bare feet and stained dress were anything to go by._

_"__Is that so?" Was her reply, hands on her hips. It was laughable how he was so angry. He was fuming, actually. "I don't see how that's a bad thing."_

_Didn't she understand she couldn't act like this? That there were always people looking at them? That they would both rule France one day! Francis wanted to pull at his hair when he thought of spending the rest of his life making sure she behaved properly at court._

_"__You are going to get into trouble." He told her, matter-of-factly._

_And just then they jumped at the sound of their governess worried screams, coming towards them down the hill from the castle. The fat lady held up her skirts as she climbed down the side of a hill, her face flushed. Even Mary looked appropriately taken aback. For once._

_"__I told you." He couldn't help the smugness in his voice. Maybe she'd learn once and for all._

_"__Dear Lord!" Their governess screamed. "You majesty! What happened? Look at your dress! And where are your shoes?" The woman tried –pointlessly- to brush the dirt of the hem of Mary's dress and tame her unruly hair._

_"__I was playing and I fell on my bum." She stated simply. "And then I couldn't get up because the heel got stuck. So I took my shoes off." She shrugged. Shrugged._

_"__Hmmn. And where was his Grace when this happened?" The old woman said, turning her eyes on him. _

_Unbelievable, Francis thought, even when she does something it's his fault. The governess shook her head as if disappointment. _

_"__Well, it matters not now." The governess said. "Follow me, your majesties. Let's go get you both cleaned up." The woman started trudging up the hill again, her back turned to them - and in a burst of spite he threw out his leg and Mary fell down on fresh mud, ruining the front of her dress too. _

_She looked at him, betrayed, and then pulled him down right after her._

.

"A couple of months after you arrived." He nods. "You ruined your dress. My mother had a fit." He tells her, remembering.

"What I remember is that you tripped me." She tells him, mock affronted.

"I was mad at you," he defends his past actions, "I was also six years old." He laughs. She tries not to, pretending to be mad, but the memory of his little face all scrunched up, with his flushed cheeks because misbehaving was _wrong, _make giggles escape her.

"I didn't know how much I was going to love you back then." He tells her then, honestly. And she can't help but smile, because it still feels like a dream where they are. "You _are _a little Scottish spitfire, though." He adds.

"I still don't see how that's a bad thing." She says, pulling on the reigns of her horse. "Come on!" She screams over her shoulder, but he's already chasing after her.


	11. Chapter 11

He walks into their rooms late in the afternoon, after appropriately thanking their hosts. He's played the part of the dauphin as was expected, and now he wants nothing more than to return to the warmth of Mary. Still amazed and grateful that he gets to call her his wife. She has her back to him when he enters. Busy folding her shifts and pushing them to the bottom of a chest, the lines of her body stiff.

"You have servants for that, you know?" he tells her, joking, and at once he can see part of the tension leave her shoulders.

"It's quite all right," she answers, continuing to fold her clothes, albeit with less resentment. "Our period of grace is coming to a close, and I want to make sure I don't leave anything behind here."

"It's true we only have one destination left before going back to court, but I'd like to think nothing is over," he says softly. "Is that what has you like this?"

"It's nothing, I just….I don't want things to change," she says. For the first time looking up at him as though words fail her.

"What do you mean?" The past months have held nothing but joy for them. He never even knew he could be so immeasurably happy; but he can see worry lines on her forehead.

"We've been so happy these months, and when we return to court…" She seems about to say something else, but then looks back down at the task at hand. "We both know your father will keep you otherwise occupied, that's all." She rather violently folds a coverlet and stuffs it in the chest.

"And you're afraid I won't have any time for us? That we'll be too busy to be with each other?"

Her silence tells him that this is exactly what troubles her.

"Mary, things will change," he says, and she looks at him almost hurt. "But for the better. We're married now. No matter what has our attention during the day, we'll go to bed next to each other."

He extends his hand for her to take, and she puts down the nightgown she's holding to go to him. He pulls her away from the strewn clothes and hopefully away from her worry as well. She steps into his embrace with a sigh. One of his hands comes to rest on her waist, as the other rubs comforting circles on her back.

"My silly, beautiful girl..." he breathes her in as the words leave his mouth. "Nothing's going to keep us apart now, love." He'd never thought himself one for such names, but he loves her in a way that makes the words easy on his lips.

"Now, what if you stop assaulting your clothes and join me for a walk?" he asks her teasingly, trailing his fingers down her back.

She looks up at him with a faint smile, and raises herself on her toes to press her lips to his.

"What if I don't feel much like walking?" she ask him, raising an eyebrow.

"Come," he nods towards the doors, "the air will help clear our minds."

"What if I have a much better way to clear our minds?" She smiles mischievously, and grabbing his hand, guides it down her body just _so_. He gets an idea of what she would rather be doing instead rather quickly.

Needless to say, their hosts don't hear much from them until their carriage takes them away the following morning.


	12. Chapter 12

Mary becomes quiet all of the sudden, her eyes following the rolling hills outside their moving carriage.

"Is there something wrong?" he asks her, his fingertips on her shoulder.

"No, it's just…I think I recognize those hills…." Her brow is scrunched up in concentration, and then her voice brightens with recognition. "And those trees, Francis I used to play here!"

"Are you sure?" he asks, he never knew the location of the convent where she grew up, nobody but his parents knew, but they had told him she could never visit her because it was weeks of travel away. This place is a mere two days away from court.

Mary doesn't seem to pay attention to him, staring excitedly outside the window.

"I'm almost certain," she tells him after a second, turning to him with a smile. "There should be a creek right over there, and the convent somewhere behind."

He sees the longing flash in her eyes, the way her smile turns just a little sad.

"Would you like to visit?" he asks at once, he vowed to himself that not once would he see her unhappy. "See the sisters and the other girls again?"

"Can we do that?" she turns and asks him, her hands grabbing his arm.

"I don't see why not," he tells her, his own smile spreading his lips as he sees her so excited. "We can do whatever you want."

The smile grew on her face as Francis asked the driver to take them to a convent around these parts, and the carriage lurched to the right not long after, the scenery becoming more and more familiar to her, as she pointed out several spots and mentioned things long since pass to him.

"And there, that's where we kept the goats, Sister Eugene taught me how to milk them and how to make cheese," she told him, pointing at where several white goats where mulling about. "And look," she grabbed his arm and pulled him further to the window, not noticing the amused look on his face, "somewhere up that hill there's this huge rock we used to climb, I remember falling the first time and scrapping my hands and knees. The sisters were so worried they ran over to me but when they got there I had already wiped the blood off on my dress and was trying to get to the top again."

He smiles at her, completely picturing her as the little wild girl he once knew, not letting small matters like being a Queen deter her from climbing rocks or trying to play ball with the boys back at the castle. It's so completely her he only regrets not being there to see it.

She finally notices his amused smile and looks down at her hands a little shyly.

"I'm glad you were happy," he tells her, taking her cheek between his hands, his thumbs rubbing small circles over the rosy pink that's settled over them.

"I never stopped missing you," she tells him, stretching to him and pressing her lips to his because now she can, because he's her husband and nothing could ever keep them apart again.

"I used to lay awake those first few nights. I could not sleep because of all the noise from the other girls and the noises of the farm, and I used to wonder if you were falling asleep too, or if your father had kept you up with him at some meeting…and after a while you were like some sort of faraway dream, I grew up and only wondered if when I came back you would be the same as I remembered."

He nodded at her words. "And what did you find?"

"That everything was so much better," she tells him smiling, as the carriage lurches to a stop.

She widens her eyes at him, turning back towards the window, and he can see from over her shoulder how little girls in matching brown dresses run towards the carriage.

The girls have their mouths open at Mary's dress and crown when she steps out of the carriage, he following suit. Some of the older ones have the recollection to curtsy but the smallest one just tell her how pretty she is and pull at her cloak to hand her a flower, and Mary's ensuing smile as she leans down to thank for it makes his heart constrict in the thought of their own future children.

"What's all this uproar about?" he hears a loud but sweet voice ask, coming out from the stone building. "Dear God, if its Mary! Girls come here!"

At once the children run back.

"Sister," Mary smiles, and he can see a clear bright shine in her eyes as she takes everything in.

"Please don't," she asks right away as the nun lowers her head in respect.

"My child, I thought I'd never see you again!" the woman says clasping her hands fondly, "and you've brought company. Your majesty."

"How is everybody? Where's the Abbess?" Mary asks with a wide smile on her face, one that fades away as she sees the expression on the plump nun's face.

"It's freezing here, let's go inside," she says instead of answering, leading the way back to the convent.

He lets them go first while he gives instructions to their guards to keep watch from afar to not scare the children.

He walks in, Mary's back to him, the sad atmosphere inside something palpable.

"…it was just a few weeks ago, the disease took her so quickly…"

He instantly walks up to Mary, treading his arm around her waist.

"The girls are not allowed to go as far as the graveyard, so they made her a little memorial of sorts," the nun explains to Mary, who turns to him, a sheen of unshed tears bright in her eyes.

"I'll be right back," she tells him, squeezing his hand, and he nods, thinking that perhaps they shouldn't have come at all.

"Take your time," he tells her and watches her leave after the older woman.

She's quiet as she's left alone in front of a small wooden cross with the abbess' name carved at the base, her old rosary hanging from it. She remembers how she hugged before she left for, how she told her what she hoped with all her strength was true. _He will love you._

"You were right," she says quietly with a smile, laying down the flower one of the girls gave her in front of the small memorial. There are other various flowers and trinkets the youngest girls have left there, even a toy rests by the side of the sister's name, prove of how much she was loved.

A sudden scream of "Mary!" shakes her from the memories, and she looks up just in time as a certainly taller redheaded girl flings herself into her arms. She eagerly hugs her back.

"I mean, your majesty," Rose says, stepping back and dropping into a curtsy, which Mary immediately pulls her out off.

"Come on, I want you to meet someone," she says, going back inside.

.

"Francis, this is Rose," she says, turning the girl around, her hands affectionately on her shoulders; the girl turns beet read. "And Rose, this is my husband, Francis."

"Your majesty," the girl says again. He simply smiles at her.

"Why, hello."

"Rose here is a very good friend of mine," Mary confides in him, and the girl in questions looks up at her with bright admiration in her eyes, as if Mary hung the moon in the sky every night.

He supposes it's not that different at how almost everyone else looks at his wife, the strength and energy she radiates touching everyone around her, making them follow her. He knows he would, to the end of time.

Its a few hours later, after Mary has sat down with most of the girls she used to know and said hello to all of the inhabitants of the small convents –she even checked in on the goats- that they leave.

Not before he notices Mary pressing a small puch into the new Abbess' hands, with a soft "take it as a present from a girl you helped raise" leaving her lips.

She's quiet on the ride to the manor where they'll spend the night before returning to court in the morning, but there's something lighter about her, too.

"She was so kind to me," she tells him breaking her silence. "They all were, but I remember how she held me as I cried my eyes out the first night I got here."

"I'm sorry," Francis tells her, he never knew said woman, but if Mary's memory is anything to go by, or how reverently she is thought of back at the convent, then she certainly must have been remarkable.

"She's with God now, and I know she's happy," she says with a small smile, "just as I am," she adds, taking his hand between hers, a promise fulfilled from a long time ago.

And she knows their honeymoon is over, and they'll be returning to court very soon, but she also knows the absolute bliss of being married will never end.

* * *

**A/N: This is the last chapter of Bliss, and my last fanfiction for Frary. I made a post on my tumblr concerning my decision to drop the show since 2x09, but even afterwards, I still foolishly cared about Frary. Still looked up their scenes because I couldn't let go of them. Now, the writers have damaged them beyond repair and I can no longer write for a ship that makes me so sad.**

**I'm very sorry about "Heartfelt Lies", which will not be updated again. And i****f I ever manage to look past what the writers did to them and write for the idea of Frary in my head, I'll let you guys know. Thank you for all the reviews and the support, it meant a lot. :)**


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